That said, and following this post, I
intend to never use the word publicly again. The battle - and why it
had to be a battle I don't know - is over.

I was called a fag at least weekly for
most of high school. It hurt. It sucked. It was violent. Sometimes I
fought back (e.g., "you're just mad cuz I came in your hair last
night," was a favorite retort. Then I ran, into a classroom or
the library.) When I moved to SF and met self-identified radical
faggots I delighted in referring to myself and my gay buddies as fags
and faggots. I still use the term to promote intimacy playshops when
I want to invoke a particularly fierce energy of my/our history and
to challenge the gentrification of the mind that continues to erode
radical solidarity.

When queer emerged as a collective
name, I finally came fully out, and fully home. I had been waiting
for an anti-assimilationist identity that separated me from Castro
clones and capitalist gays and linked me to a motley crew and their
dissident differences. Queer was an intersectional action poem of
punk rage and gay liberation and lesbian feminism and SM dykes and
bisexual playparties and trans visibility and radical faerie and poly
hippy and AIDS activism and genderqueer body/fashion poets... and all
kinds of dissident, fierce LGBT and POC identities and scenes. Queer
was intensely debated during its rise in popular and academic use,
especially by old school gay men who had been cut, bashed, and
terrorized by the word, and the legalized violence that backed up
that insult. Perhaps if transpeople had been the most vocal (or most
heard) in rejecting the term queer, it wouldn't be in use today. But
we recognized then that the effort to freeze the word queer as an
insult, as embodied pain, would be a conservative mistake, a
reactionary misstep in the movement towards our healing and
liberation. We could compare the strategic re-appropriation of queer
or tranny to the movement around the slurs faggot, nigger, and dyke.

What's new about today's debate
(besides that it is happening online where folks can dismiss or
insult anyone they disagree with, without having to look at them or
learn anything about them), is that this time, the folks who want
everyone to agree on a single meaning and a single history for a
word, are winning. Of course, one could also recognize that the folks
that speak from the margins, from the place of hurt, for the (most)
oppressed, are winning, finally, one small battle among thousands.

Those who defend an immediate stop to
the queer use of the t-word cannot accept or even acknowledge that
several high profile, pioneering, transgender artist-activists reject
the 'censorship' of tranny. They use tranny on themselves, and their
friends, and accept it almost as a term of endearment. Is it really
that simple to call these people blinded by privilege and out of
touch as if aging made them stupid instead of wise? Multiple
generations and diverse communities do not always share a word's
value, meaning, history, uses, habits, or intentions. I wish that was
OK or that we had more strategies for dealing with paradox and
difference, and that includes the asymmetrical power dynamics that
structure so much violence in and around difference. Violence for
some, privilege for others. That's what difference is. How could we
possibly agree on a single language or tactic for confronting that
violence? And why would anyone, familiar with the violence of
exclusion or social death, take a prohibitionist or censorship stance
towards a word used more within their communities of solidarity than
without?

I'm going to miss the détournement of
slander and I await the blooming of a new Q generation's
action-poetry of identity, healing and solidarity.

The
issue about drag queens not 'entitled' to 'appropriate' the word tranny
is messed up in all kinds of ways, especially if you've been to SF Bay
Area drag clubs where transgender, cisgender, crossdresser, transvestite, butch, femme, and genderqueer have all been involved in various approaches to drag performances. I've seen
many trans people in drag in SF, and many a drag artist has transitioned
genders after making community in queer drag scenes. It's complicated,
and I mean the intersection of our bodies our lives our experiences our
suffering our vision our social death our resistance our creativity our
options our lack of options our solidarity our alienation...

I
am not a 'fan' of the t-word and I rarely use it. And only after it's
prompted or already part of the conversation, and never to name someone I
don't know.

Camp and transgressive humor are healthy and subversive responses to pain and insult, violence and inequity. Trannyshack is a club where a lot of great things happened
for a lot of people. Integral to the club's
charm was the (lite) transgression of the borders and rules that queers
have set up to protect ourselves from further harm. Gender was not the
only 'situation' that was re-framed, satirized, toyed or fucked with
through drag. There was race and ethnicity drag, dis/ability drag, age
(too young, too old) drag, celebrity drag, and more shit jokes than can
be counted... As fast as queers could come up with new identities,
fashions, sexual habits, STDs, and political issues, they would be imitated, appropriated, and
clowned at Trannyshack along with politicians and pop stars.

The name
of the club was part of that clowning transgression. It was post punk Camp. We knew it was
wrong but we smiled inside when we said it. And we knew that we were
participating in a temporal yet crucial experiment in queer culture, the
kind of ritual that, yes Dorothy, actually creates a better world than
the one we grew up in. But all naming is political and I guess the
powerlessness of being unable to change mainstream culture's naming
(sexist and racist sports naming, pop culture naming, official history
book naming...) leads us to practice on smaller targets like a drag
club. Unfortunate.

PS

Heklina has asked for support and
patience as s/he rebrands the club - Trannyshack - that gave many of
us more life than we knew was possible. The fucked up and campy name
was part of the charm, and I mean charm politically, aesthetically,
and spiritually. If you want some queer-is-supposed-to-be-disturbing
nostalgia, watch the documentaries I Am Divine and Kate Bornstein is
a Queer and Pleasant Danger, or read Philip Huang's notes on the
importance of being offensive.

circo zero / performance

Rants, Raves, Reflections, & Revisions

Keith Hennessy blogs occasionally about performance, contemporary dance, and political action, in San Francisco, USA, Europe and beyond. Performance making, teaching and viewing as research and revival. Performance writing as a practice of critical witness, reflection, and discussion.